


Lydia

by MixedBerries2020



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester/Reader Smut, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon Sex, Demon/Human Relationships, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hell Trauma, Knifeplay, Masochism, My First Smut, Original Character(s), Ruby's Knife (Supernatural), Shameless Smut, Smut, Top Dean Winchester, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26731561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixedBerries2020/pseuds/MixedBerries2020
Summary: "Lydia looked up and froze. There, in a cheap suit, sitting down at the counter, was the man with the hazel eyes. Her torturer." Dean comes face to face with someone he tortured in hell. [OC/Canon, one shot, heavy smut, torture/sadomasochism]
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Lydia

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Lydia let a scream rip from her throat as the meat hook anchored through her right calf was torn away. It had been over one year that she had been in hell, over a year of enduring being beaten to a pulp, only to be torn apart, then put back together to start all over. And her torturer never seemed to tire of hearing her screams. His hazel eyes would light up when he would grab her throat and see her struggle for breath. His deep laugh would echo off the walls as he broke each rib. And his smile, his evil smile would grow as she would shriek with each slice of her flesh as she begged him to stop.

She didn’t know his name. Didn’t know who he was. All she knew was the tourture he put her through.

One week, he was fond of grabbing her from behind, his hand at her jaw, exposing her neck and slicing her throat from ear to ear. He would then push her to the floor and just watch. Sometimes it would be over in 30 seconds, sometimes it would take up to 2 minutes. But she could hear her own blood rushing out of her neck. She could see the volume of blood pouring out, soaking her clothes and the ground. And she could see him. Just watching, always with a smile or a smirk, until the world around her would go black.

And then, she would open her eyes, and he would be standing in front of her again, ready for the next round.

Three years. She lasted three years before she broke. The last time Alistair asked her to get off the rack, her torturer was still smiling, almost a proud smile when she said yes. It made her feel sick.

But she got off, and she started swinging. She started tearing apart souls just as her touturer had done to her. She would beat, and maim. She would slice throats and realize just why he enjoyed doing it to her. With every scream, every slice, every break; she felt better. 

She didn’t know when she had crossed the line from empathetic to sadistic. She just knew that ripping people apart slowly became her favorite thing in the world. She went through countless playmates. Most barely lasting a few months. A few lasted almost a year before begging to be taken off the rack. But no one she encountered lasted as long as her three years. Hell soon became home. A place for happiness and the smell of burning flesh.

She felt at home for a whole 30 years. Until Lucifer was shoved in his cage and the new world order came down.

She wasn’t a salesman. She wasn’t a pencil pusher. She didn’t want to sign contracts. She needed to feel flesh tearing underneath her hands, needed to hear screams and breaking bones. Crowley’s hell had some of that sure, but his idea of tourture resembled a tickle fest at a sleepover compared to what she was used to. So, she left. 

She wiggled her way out of hell and found herself a vessel. A pretty young woman, close to what she had looked like when she was alive. Katherine Connor, as her license indicated, was a local librarian, with a small frame, no more than 5’3, the stereotypical glasses and dark hair pinned back in a bun. She appeared to live alone based on the apartment. No pets, and apparently no friends based on the address book on her kitchen table. In a word; the perfect vessel. No one would seem to miss her.

So Lydia started there, in perfect little Katherine Connor, making her do what the young librarian would probably never dream of.

She started in Wyoming, where her vessel lived, then moved on to Utah, Nevada, Idaho, and Oregon, with no real reason other than torture. She had no preference, she would take men, women, any size, any race. As long as they could scream, she was happy. Secluded woods seemed to offer the best cover, as well as abandoned buildings and basements.

She remembered from her time when she was alive that hopping state and county lines was a sure way to avoid being caught, so she was far from law enforcement picking up her scent. And even if they did, that was an easy kill. Men with guns think they are so tough. 

She made a life on the road. Killing, torturing, and taking what she wanted. 

Although not needing to eat or sleep, she did love a good burger. It was one of her vices when she was alive. She had stopped into a local diner, eyeing her waitress as a possible next conquest. She came over with Lydia’s burger and extra fries. Lydia stared at the woman, making the waitress uneasy. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked. “Not quite yet doll, thanks.” Lydia smiled devilishly. The waitress quickly walked away. Lydia smiled to herself. She assembled her burger, squeezed on some extra ketchup, and went to take a bite when the door chimed. She looked up and froze. There, in a cheap suit, sitting down at the counter, was the man with the hazel eyes. Her torturer.

\----

Lydia stared, mouth agape. He sat at the counter, looking over the menu. Plain as day. Normal as can be.

She tried to piece it together. Had he broken out of hell too? Did he have the same idea she did? They probably jumped ship at the same time. If she couldn’t stand pushing papers, there’s no way he could. She got her sadistic nature learning from him. And In the six weeks she had been topside, she had not met another demon, until now.

Screw the waitress. He was her next target. Torturing humans was fun, but she had never tortured a demon before. And she could only imagine the sweet sweet release from hearing his screams of pain. To be able to do to him, what he did to her? Lydia’s mouth watered at the thought.

It would work to her advantage that she was in a vessel, he wouldn’t recognize her. Unless demons could see through each other’s vessels? But then, why wasn’t he in a different vessel? His body was the same as it was in hell. Not that it mattered really. Ripping flesh is still ripping flesh whether it's human or demon.

Getting him alone would be the hard part. He was sitting with another man, bigger than her torturer, possibly another demon? She tried to overhear their conversation, but was only able to get pieces. Something about people in the town, a virus or outbreak, something about a woman named Eve. Not that she cared. The men only stayed for one coffee before paying and getting up to leave. Lydia followed suit, minus the paying of course.

She followed them to a nearby motel. Both men went inside. Lydia booked the room next to theirs and waited. She thought about her plan, how to lure her torturer into her room, knock him unconscious, and drag him to the nearby lot she had earmarked for the waitress. She was shocked out of her thoughts by a knock at the door, she peered out the window seeing the front desk clerk. Lydia opened the door. “Yes?” she asked, annoyed. “Here are some fresh towels, I hadn’t stocked the room before you checked in.” She said. “Thanks.” Lydia replied dryly, closing the door in the woman’s face. She put the towels in the bathroom. There was another knock on the door. Lydia walked back to the door. “What? You forget the soap too?” She barked as she opened the door. 

But it wasn’t the clerk. It was him. In a flash he had grabbed her by the neck, pushing her back into the room, shutting the door behind him. Hi pinned her to the wall, a jagged knife at her throat.

“Why are you following us?” he demanded. Lydia stared into his dark hazel eyes, and for the first time, and as a surprise to her, was not scared. His hand had been at her throat many times before, and her heart would alway race in fear. But this time her heart was racing with excitement. 

“So you do remember me.” Lydia smirked. “What?” He responded. “I saw you following us from the diner. Who are you?” He growled. Lydia was confused. “So you don’t remember me.” She concluded. “I’ve never seen you before in my life.” he said. Lydia rolled her eyes. “Oh, you have, you just don’t remember.” She said. She looked into his eyes. “We were close years ago.” She said. He started to lower the knife, looking confused. “About three years ago in this time, who knows how long in hell’s time.” She said, smirking. He slowly lowered the knife away from her throat, but kept the grip on her neck. “Who are you?” He asked again. The rumble in his voice excited her in a way she couldn't explain. “We spend three years together in hell and you’re so quick to forget? I bled over you how many times? And just like that, I'm gone from your memory?” His eyes flashed a confused look, then he understood. “Ah, now you remember.” She pressed. “How you would pull me back by the chin,” She grazed her hand up his chest to trail along his jaw, grabbing his throat in return, “and slice clean through me?” At this, he released her neck, stepping back, looking lost. As the memories came back Lydia smiled. 

He hadn’t thought about his time in hell in a long time. But he remembered her. And he remembered slicing through her neck everyday, for almost a month, in addition to all the other unspeakable things he had done to her. She was the only person he had tortured that lasted a full three years under his hand. He remembered Alistair calling her name and asking her the same question he had asked him. “Lydia.” he said finally, looking at her. Her smile grew wider. 

“So before I tear into you in all the delicious ways you tore into me, I have some questions.” she stalked over to him until they were face to face again. “How’d you get out? Did you jump ship at Crowley’s takeover too?” 

“No,” he replied, still looking at her. “I was pulled out a long time ago.” He gripped the knife in his hand, debating on when to strike. 

“Pulled out?” she asked, anger rising in her chest. “By who?”

He didn’t owe her anything. She was a demon, just like any other. He should kill her where she stands. But he knew her before hell had twisted and charred her soul.

She was one of the nightmares that kept him up at night when Castiel did pull him from hell. Her screams were the worst. Her voice haunted him for months when he came back. He would hear her begging him to stop, begging him for mercy when he would try to sleep.

“I don’t owe you anything.” He said, looking at the floor past her. Lydia sighed. “Fine.” she said. “Then at least allow me one thing before I dig into you.” 

“What?” he asked. 

“What is your name?” 

He paused before answering her. “Dean.”

Lydia smiled wickedly. “Well, Dean…” she started, grabbing him by the shirt. “Nice to officially meet you.” She flung him across the room with all her might, eliciting a grunt from him as he crashed into the small table on the other side, breaking it as he hit the floor. In an instant she was across the room to pull him up just to throw him to the other side. He hit the wall by the door, groaning again. 

Excitement was an understatement. Lydia could feel her blood (well, Katherine’s blood) pumping in her ears. She could feel her breath quicken in anticipation as Dean grimaced in pain, trying to stand. Before he could, she straddled him grabbing his neck, just as he had done in the past. “So, Dean the demon got pulled out of hell? Huh?” She gripped his throat tighter. “I can’t imagine why, you must have been great for payroll. How many souls did you pull apart down there? How many more like me?” She squeezed tighter as he struggled against her strength. “They have you torturing up here too?” She smiled. “I’ll admit, torturing here has its perks. And so far, I’ve only ever done humans.” She leaned into his ear. “I’ve never gotten to rip apart a demon before.” 

As her weight shifted when she leaned into his ear, he was able to get an arm under her leg and throw her off of him. She tumbled to the side and tuned over, but Dean already had the knife back at her throat. 

“I’m not a demon.” He said, panting.

Lydia eyed him for a moment. “Sure.” She said, disbelieving as she raised a hand to him and pushed him back. He landed between the dingy double beds, knife falling underneath one of them. “You’re not a demon, like I’m not Sister Mary Francis.” She chuckled, straddling him again. 

“I’m not.” He said again, arm reaching for the knife, but just brushing it with his fingertips. “I’m human.” Lydia started at him again, trying to decipher if he was lying. Not that it mattered.

“Either way...” She started, leaning down, trailing her hand down the arm that was reaching for the knife. “Doesn’t really matter one way or another.” She was inches from his face, her body fully flush against his. She could smell, actually smell the humanity in him. It was intoxicating. 

“You gonna buy me dinner before you grope me or you like to skip straight to foreplay?” He quipped. For a moment, Lydia was intrigued, and an image of Dean’s head buried between her legs flashed through her mind, before she felt the wooden handle of the blade at her fingers. Before Dean could blink, Lydia had the knife at his throat. 

“I do like to skip straight to foreplay.” She smiled, eyeing the way the blade shined against his skin.

“So if you are human, as you claim,” she started, “this whole thing could be over in one plunge of this knife in your throat?”

He stared back at her, unmoving. Silently challenging her.

“Hm…” She trailed the knife down his chest. “That’s no fun.” She stopped just above his navel, turning the knife vertically. “It would take longer to gut you and pull out your insides one by one.” She smiled, flashing her eyes back at him. 

To her surprise, he smirked. She was startled when she felt his hands at the back of her thighs, “You’re not gonna do that.” He said, and slowly grazed his hands further up, until they were resting on her hips.

She swallowed hard at the sensation that rang through her body. His tone changed, almost to the rough gravel tone he had in hell. And this time, it wasn’t filling her with fear.

He tightened the grip on her hips. “You wouldn’t dare.” He gave one subtle thrust of his hips against her and she dropped the knife.

He grabbed it before she knew what was happening and pushed her back off of him. 

She stood up, slightly dazed. She barely had time to get her bearings before Dean had her pinned back against the wall, the knife now at her chest.

“Bit of Stockholm Syndrome, huh?” Lydia just stared at him, mouth dry. She swallowed again, looking down to the knife. “You know a knife isn’t gonna do much right?” she asked looking back at him. 

“Oh I beg to differ,” he growled. He brought the knife to just under her clavicle and gave her one sharp slice. She gasped when the skin ripped apart and an orange static came from the wound, and she felt pain. She had not felt pain since being in Hell, and it was a welcome feeling. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation; the sharp sting that lingered.

When she opened her eyes, she met Dean’s gaze, his eyes even darker.

“So Little Lydia turned into a masochist in hell huh?” He smirked as he brought the knife back to her throat. She felt the coolness of the blade glide across her skin, silently begging for another slice.

She closed her eyes, getting lost for a moment. “Mhm… and Dark Daddy Dean still isn’t able to put down the knife…” Her eyes snapped open as the words fell from her mouth and the knife clattered to the floor. 

She looked back at him, shocked by her own words, but he was staring at her, ready to devour her.

He grabbed her jaw and crashed his lips onto hers, aggressively kissing her. On instinct, she met him, biting his bottom lip in between her teeth. She gripped his wrists that were holding her jaw and he moaned as she pulled his lip through her teeth. She felt a hot excitement pool in her belly at his response and she smiled wickedly when he pulled away. 

“Say it again.” He demanded, staring into her eyes fiercely. “What?” she smirked. “...daddy?” He grabbed her by the neck and threw her on the bed. He towered over her, grabbing both her knees, spreading them apart, and leaned down kissing her hard. He seated himself between her legs as he pulled her wrists over her head. 

She could feel his erection at her core and she rolled her hips against him, as he had done to her not minutes before. He growled in response. “Again.” He demanded. 

“Only if you pick up the knife.” She breathed. He chuckled darkly. “Say it again and I will.” he smirked. Lydia licked her lips before looking him in the eye. “Please, daddy.” Dean moaned as he pushed himself off the bed, retrieving the knife. 

She felt the knife before she felt his weight back on top of her. He sliced the opposite side of her chest now, and this time she let herself moan. 

Dean leaned down grabbing her by the hair and pulling it back, exposing her neck. He whispered in her ear, “Want me to keep going?”

“Yes…” Lydia panted.

“Yes...?” he asked.

“Yes, daddy…” she moaned.

She writhed against him as he sucked and bit down her neck and she whined when he moved away. She watched him, confused, when he pulled a silver flask out of his jacket pocket.

“What’s that?” she breathed. “You’ll see.” He responded. He took a swig from the flask and immediately bent down to her neck again. She went to scream at the burning pain that was radiating from where his lips met her flesh, but he covered her mouth firmly with his hand. She struggled against him as the pain slowly faded, feeling her own arousal warm between her legs.

When he finally released her mouth, her breathing was ragged.”What the hell was that?” She asked.

“Holy water.” He smirked before taking another swig and attacking the other side of her neck. The intense pain Lydia felt blurred into pleasure. She could feel the warmth between her legs grow and the knot in her belly tighten as Dean covered her mouth again with a strong hand. 

Perhaps she did become a masochist in hell. She knew full well that she enjoyed inflicting pain on others, but did not expect to enjoy pain being inflicted on her. Maybe it was the fact that it was Dean, maybe it was a twisted version of Stockholm Syndrome. Whatever it was, she just knew she didn’t want it to stop. 

As the sizzling pain at her neck wore off, Dean continued to tease her, slowly tracing his tongue across where the holy water had burned her. She slowly traced her hand down his chest, to the buckle of his belt, trailing across his erection. His breath caught and he stopped. He grabbed her hand and pinned it back above her head. He stared at her with dark eyes. 

“Please…” she breathed. He smirked again. “”Please what?” He prompted. “...Please daddy.” He grabbed her throat and growled, “Stand up.” he demanded.

She stood up standing in front of him. “Turn around.” She did as he said and she felt him move behind her. His body was flush against hers as his hand slowly grabbed her jaw. He pulled her head back as he raised the knife. She watched the knife above her and moaned. He slowly and gently dragged the knife across her throat.

“I could kill you right now.” He said.

Her heart started racing. “But you won’t.” She breathed. He was silent. He dragged the knife just below her throat and sliced. She let out another moan at the hot sting of the knife piercing her flesh.

Dean trailed the knife down the front of her body, stopping at the button on her jeans. He undid the button and zipper and roughly pulled them down, exposing her. “Take these off.” he commanded. Lydia kicked them the rest of the way off. 

“Look at me,” he said. She turned around and looked at him. He stared at her for a moment before grabbing the back of her neck and kissing her hard. She dragged her tongue against his lips and he growled. Her hands fell to his belt. He kissed her harder as she undid the buckle and the button of his jeans, sliding them down as he had done to her. She pulled away, looking into his eyes and licking her lips.

Before he could stop her, she dropped to her knees. He dropped the knife when she took him in her mouth. No warning, no teasing, just slowly opened her throat and drank him in. The moan that ripped through him as she hummed against him made her weak. She moved slowly, painfully, and she grabbed both of his hands and placed them on either side of her head. He moaned again as he gripped her hair and set a new pace. His breathing became ragged and she held onto his thighs for support. He let out small moans with each thrust, trying to hold on. Before long, his movements slowed, then stopped completely.

Without warning he pulled her off of him and threw her back on the bed. He removed his jacket and kelt down, grabbing her by the hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed, and stretching her knees to her chest. 

She let out a small sigh when his tongue flicked out to taste her. And a long moan when he ran his tongue up the length of her. Her breathing became faster when he sucked against her clit, and faster still when he held her harder to the bed, not letting up his pace. She could feel her orgasm building and she grasped his hair. 

“Dean!” she breathed, unable to stop herself. He stopped, and she whined again. He slowly licked her once and she moaned in agony. “What was that?” he asked darkly. She couldn’t think straight. She was on the edge. He ran his tongue slowly against her again and she let out another low moan. “What’s my name?” He growled. She just whimpered, out of breath. “Say it.” He demanded. 

“Daddy.” She whispered. He smiled again. “Good girl.” He latched back on to her clit, resuming the same pressure he had before. 

“Yes!...Daddy!...Please!” Lydia begged. “Please, don’t stop!” He didn’t. She came hard, legs shaking under his grasp. He didn’t stop until he felt her stop shaking, slowing his pace, he released her from his mouth and stood up. As she came down from her high, she saw him looking at her, still smiling. She bit her lip and reached around the bed for his jacket. She found the flask in his pocket and handed it to him.

“Kiss me.” She begged. Dean took a swig and leaned down to kiss her. He put all his weight on her as the holy water burned her lips and tongue. She writhed underneath him, moaning in pain. She laced her fingers through his hair as the burning wore off. 

He pulled away and nudged his knee between her legs. He looked into her eyes as he entered her, letting out a low moan. She sighed as she felt the length of him fill her completely. She had hooked her legs around his hips, but he slid his hands underneath them, pinning her legs to her chest. The new angle allowed him to go even deeper. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she moaned again. “Oh, God.” she breathed.

He stopped. He didn’t move. He looked at her until she looked back, whimpering.

“Nope.” he said, sternly.

She moaned and bit her lip before, “Daddy.”

He pulled almost all the way out of her before slamming back into her, his moan matched hers as he quickly pumped in and out of her. It wasn’t long before her second orgasm was building. “Yes, daddy!” she breathed. “Please!” He pounded into her harder, moaning with each thrust. “Please… Yes… I’m--” she moaned again. Dean released his grip on one of her legs to grab her throat. Lydia moaned as he pumped faster. Soon her walls clenched around him as another orgasm crashed around her, he kept his pace, pounding into her harder, until he moaned loudly and slowed, pumping once, twice, three times as he released inside of her. 

He fell to his forearms above her. Both of them out of breath, coming down from the climax. He met her eyes before slowly rolling to the side. Both of them laid there for a moment, wondering where this all went wrong.


End file.
